She Looks So Good in Love
by LifeBringsMeOnlyTears
Summary: Logan can't help but wonder if she's ever looked at him like that. He's never seen her face light up like that before, not with him. AU Post X1. Logan/Rogue


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Wolverine, Rogue, or any other mentioned Marvel characters. Stan Lee's the lucky SOB that does. Well, so does Disney. Unfortunately.

**A/N: **Story contains some adult language and sexual references. Please use discretion when reading.

**She Looks So Good in Love:** Logan can't help but wonder if she's ever looked at him like that. He's never seen her face light up like that before, not with him. AU Post X1. Logan/Rogue

* * *

It was easier to keep to the shadows, to blend in with the scenery. By avoiding contact with anyone, he was able to nearly separate himself from the situation, to almost manage to pretend that it didn't affect him at all.

But it did.

Chuck had spared no expense when he'd gone ahead and decorated the series of rooms for the holidays. Miniature American flags, along with red, white, and blue streamers, were strung across doorways and even the stair's railings. The air conditioning was working at max capacity, pumping cool air through the vents scattered about. But, the humidity outside was winning the battle, thanks in part to the constant trickle of people in and out of the large patio doors.

Dusk was still hours off, and yet there was already talk of the fireworks show that Jubilee and St. John had been placed in charged of. It put him on edge and made him think back to a time when the spitfire Asian had lit his hair on fire during a Danger Room session. He found himself hoping she had more control tonight.

The overhead lights were bright, and the music was nearly intolerable. But, as he lingered in the shadows and sipped on his beer, he found himself almost able to block it all out. His hazel eyes trailed across the lounge, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as his gaze rested on the lone figure near the refreshment table.

Brown sugar with a hint of raspberries.

Logan could smell her from across the room, the fruity drink in her hand masking her natural scent. She reminded him of the south, of hot, humid nights and fog rising off of the dewy grass. It was sweet and sultry and had just a hint of tang to it.

Her lips were curled in a smile as she turned slightly, her striking platinum bangs falling over her eyes as she glanced up at the man next to her. His thoughts wavered for a moment, and he felt the strong desire to chuck his beer across the room simply to see it shatter against the far wall. But he couldn't. Not with her watching.

Red-painted lips parted in laughter as she placed her forgotten plate on the edge of the table, her delicate fingers curling as she offered her hand to the man.

"Remy LeBeau," he heard despite the distance. The name sounded about as French as the man's accent, and made Logan's skin crawl. "Enchante."

The beer was quickly forgotten, placed behind him on a step as he forced himself to move out of the shadows and into the brightly lit room. A few surprised students scattered as he moved past them, his eyes still on the brown-eyed girl that he had been watching from the shadows. His body was tense with anticipation, and he could almost _feel_ that damned Cajun's jaw as he pictured the right hook that would, no doubt, put the other man out of commission.

Yet, the closer he got to the scene, the more his steps slowed. Her back was to him until she turned slightly, her brown eyes full of something that hit him low in the gut. Her gaze was lifted upwards, her eyes seeing nothing but the man in front of her.

It dawned on him then, and the man without a past found himself losing a bit more of the humanity that he'd clung to for so very long. Before the Institute, before _her_, there hadn't been anything worth keeping him grounded. He'd lived a life of solitude, living out of the back of his truck and occasionally spending a night or two in company of a faceless woman in the seediest motel that he could find. But, then she'd been there, and it hadn't seemed like such a hassle to act like he had some common sense.

But now, Goddammit, he could feel it all slipping away from him.

Had she ever looked up at him like that?

He wracked his brain, his thoughts swirling as he stood there in the middle of a crowded room, his hands balled at his sides and his fingers flexing involuntarily. He couldn't remember her looking up at him like that, couldn't remember ever seeing her smile at him like that. Hell, he'd never seen her so giddy in the two years that he'd known her.

The urge to let loose and stalk forward the few remaining feet and grab the newcomer by his collar was overwhelming. He could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins, could taste the blood as he bit into the side of his mouth to keep from releasing a warning growl. His claws, the proof that he was a freak, that he was a damned animal and nothing more, were no doubt obvious just millimeters from the surface of his skin. He imagined the Cajun's blood spraying against his face, imagined letting loose and shoving the claws so deep into his chest that there would be no chance for survival.

Goddammit, had she ever touched him like that?

Logan's heart pounded wildly in his chest as he stared at her, stared at her gloved hand against the scruffy jaw of a man that was most certainly _not_ him. He could vaguely remember what her warm hand felt like against his skin, glove or not. He caught another whiff of her scent and saw her in the back of his mind, saw her hair splayed across the pillow and her lips parted in wonder as she urged him forward, her thighs cupping him against her.

Why couldn't he remember her lighting up like she was with the smooth-talking Cajun? Hadn't he been enough?

Of course he hadn't.

Dammit. They'd never even talked about it. Every time she brought it up, he'd changed the subject or pulled on his jeans. He wasn't good with words. She knew that. She had to know that. How many times had her control failed and she absorbed him in the middle of a rather heated moment? No, of course she knew. She knew how he felt.

She just _had_ to.

His chest ached as he took a hesitant step back, and then two. Before he knew it, he had turned on his heel and stalked across the room, a red haze creeping over his vision. The glass patio door nearly shattered as he shoved it open, his hand balled into a fist.

He turned at the last minute, the humid heat prickling at his skin. Dark eyes searched and found her figure immediately. Laughter bubbled out of her, and he could almost hear it flowing over him like a gentle wave of heat. He imagined that her eyes were alight with it, that her entire face was alive; her cheeks flushed and her lips parted slightly, just aching to be kissed.

Confrontation wasn't on the agenda tonight. Not anymore.

Resolute, he turned his gaze away and made his way across the grounds, no particular destination in mind. He wanted to rip something apart, to sink his claws into something that would squeal like a fucking pig. Instead, he forced himself to latch onto the humanity that she'd spawned in him, forced himself to cling to that precipice rather than relinquish his hold so easily.

She looked happy. Didn't he want that for her?

Of course he fucking did. He wanted her to be happy. Out of all the people he knew, she deserved it the most. Kid had been through more than any person had a right to.

Dammit, it was hard. It hurt. It hit him low in the gut and made his chest ache the further away from her he got.

He waited until the sounds of the celebration were barely audible, even to his enhanced senses. When he finally faced the Mansion again, he couldn't make out any figures, enhanced eyesight or not. The late evening sunlight provided him shadow where he stood under the large and aged tree.

A snarl curled his lips as he fell back against the trunk of the tree, his back resting roughly against it as he slid his hands into the pockets of his too-tight jeans. He continued to stare at the patio, as if expecting her to waltz out after him any moment despite the fact that she probably didn't even know he was there to begin with.

It was probably easier this way. Maybe he could slip back upstairs and get his bag together. He'd need his jacket, of course. He couldn't go anywhere without that. Course, he'd need to tell Chuck he was leaving, and maybe get Pete or Scott to take over the Defense classes. Then there was 'Ro. Hadn't she asked him to look at a leaky faucet up in her loft?

Dammit. He couldn't leave.

"Sugah?"

Her voice took him by surprise, but he refused to let it show as he let his gaze flicker to the right. She stood close enough for him to reach out and run his fingers through her hair, but he remained motionless. Those warm brown eyes were narrowed in thought as she used a gloved hand to brush her hair out of her eyes, drawing his gaze briefly to the same hand that fucking Cajun had slobbered all over.

"Missin' the festivities, ain't'cha?"

Those dark orbs narrowed in annoyance as she jutted her hip out, her palm splayed against it as she glared up at him. "What the hell's wrong with yah? Ah came out here lookin' fah yah and-"

"What?" he muttered, his gaze focused on her face. He found himself wondering why it wasn't full of life, why her cheeks were flushed, and why she didn't look simply _pleased_ to see him, to be near him.

"'Cause Ah saw yah come runnin' out here," she explained, her perfectly sculpted brows vexed in confusion. "What's got yah all up in a tizzy?"

He remained silent as he forced his gaze to focus on the ground in front of him, refusing to answer her as he tried to keep his pride in check. The very last thing he would ever do was explain just how he felt. It wasn't in him; he didn't know how.

She was warm against him as she pressed herself against his side, her head pressed against his chest. Involuntarily, he pulled his right hand out of his pocket simply so that his right arm could cup her against him more firmly. He felt the sigh escape her lips, felt her hot breath against his skin, and fought the urge to lift her head to ravage her mouth. He had the sudden need to feel her naked skin against his, to feel her moving against him as he took her over and over again.

But he couldn't get it out of his head.

"You looked good in there," he murmured, waiting until she'd tilted her head to look up at him before he allowed himself to meet her gaze. "Talkin' to the Cajun."

A frown curled her lips, drawing his thoughts yet again to them. "That Swamp rat?" She shifted against him, one palm splayed across his chest as the other worked around his back, her finger looping through one of his belt loops possessively. "Yah gotta be kiddin' me."

"Listen, I don't know what you want from-"

"No," she interrupted, her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. He knew what that look meant. He'd seen it before and had been on the receiving end of that venonmous tongue and certainly didn't want to rely on his healing ability for that. Not tonight of all nights. "Ah ain't goin' over this again. Ah ain't. First it was Bobby, now it's Remy. Are yah ever gonna accept it?"

"Accept what?" he howled in reply, his right hand coming up to tangle itself in her impossibly soft hair. "I don't deserve ya, Marie. You deserve to be happy."

"Ah _am_ happy, Logan. Why can't yah see that?"

Why couldn't he? Wasn't she happy? Maybe she did light up when they were together, but he'd taken it all for granted. Maybe she was honestly happy and he'd been too fucking blind to see it.

Doubt clenched his gut uncomfortably as they let the silence envelop them in its warm grasp. He knew that they needed to finish the conversation, but part of him- a part of them he'd never admit to having- was scared. He didn't want to be right; he didn't want it to be true.

He just wanted to imagine that she hadn't looked happy, happy and in love, when she'd been talking to the Cajun.

The rest of him wanted to pretend, wanted to believe that she looked like that with him. Dammit, he needed to believe it. He needed to believe that their time together was important to her as it was to him, even if he couldn't explain it aloud. He needed her to know what she meant to him, and he didn't have the first clue how to get that point across.

"I know, darlin'," he found himself saying, his thoughts scattered. "I know."

But damned if he did.

* * *

I guess it shouldn't be surprising that Brooks & Dunn's 'You Look So Good in Love' inspired this little fic. I can't get over the possibilities between Rogue and Logan, I really can't. For this fic, Logan stuck around after X1 and something blossomed between them, something that was hinted at throughout the movie. At least, I think so. Imagining how someone like Logan would deal with a relationship, a real-live working relationship, simply fascinates me. Please, feel free to review! (:


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